


This Christmas

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-16 01:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: "It was Christmas, and it was time to start believing again, for both of them."  A different take on the ending of "Last Christmas."





	1. Part One: Merry Christmas, Clara Oswald

Clara realized all of a sudden just exactly how perfect this moment was. God, it was like something out of a movie, or her sweetest fantasies. The rosy-dim room, light softly falling across the Doctor’s hopeful face as he leaned towards her across the bed, his hand stretched out to her invitingly. He’d only summoned the nerve to offer the touch, solidifying their decision to travel together again, once Clara’s irrepressible grin had spurred him on. She took a few beats to glance around at the snow falling softly outside the window, moonlight lending it a magical glisten. From the neighbor’s house, she could hear Christmas music still blasting, their party still raging on through the late part of the night.

It was crazy, how the whole adventure with the dream crabs had swept them away, throwing the Doctor and Clara back together again, wrapping them in that absurdly surreal nightmare that had shifted into the best adventure, followed all too swiftly by the most bittersweet reverie. Clara felt the memories dissipating from her recollection almost as quickly as she tried to grab on and keep hold of them, but maybe it didn’t really matter. She remembered what had happened, seemingly minutes earlier, when she had been an old woman and the Doctor had come to save her, not realizing that they were still dreaming. He’d sent her heart leaping with joy and covered her spine with tingles by confessing he had been an idiot to ever leave her, that he regretted it.

When he had awoken in the real world, he had come running to Clara immediately, saved her from the alien crab still latched onto her face, and here they were, more firmly united than ever, honest at last about what they both wanted. Well, to a certain extent. 

She felt that last memory of the dream drifting, the sleigh ride and then the Doctor’s frankly adoring expression, the tenderness in his voice when he admitted, “Clara Oswald, you’ll never look any different to me.” It melted away on her tongue like a pastel mint, and she was left with only this simply exquisite moment of openness between them, beckoning like a door.

Clara felt remarkably confident about pushing a limit she’d scarcely dared to hint at in the past.

The time it took Clara to contemplate all of this had passed in a flash between the Doctor presenting her with his hand and her taking it. And her love for this impossible man went surging through her like a beacon of light, warming her from head to toe, renewing her as only he ever could. She almost lunged forward to kiss his cheek, and he stared at her in amazement.

Clara saw his face shift, the glimmer of bewilderment in his dazzling blue eyes telling her as much as the slight tilting of his face that the Doctor briefly considered kissing her mouth just then. He hesitated, unsure that this was something Clara would want. Well, she had a considerable power now, and it was the only one she’d ever really wanted, for all her control freak tendencies. Clara had the ability to take that doubt away from the Doctor forever, make him as sure as she was that she loved him, body and soul. She’d never again waste that chance.

Clara just smiled at the Doctor’s shocked features when she edged forward across the bed until they were so very, very close. His eyes, his face asked her, _what’s happening? What are you doing, what does it mean? Am I afraid?_. She wanted to take the fear from him too, the worry that she couldn’t want this, and even if she did, he didn’t know how to give it to her. Didn’t know how to love her properly, give her the kind of intimacy and the sort of relationship she craved and needed. Clara knew nothing could be further from the truth, if he could just believe in it himself. It was Christmas, and it was time to start believing again, for both of them.

She tipped her face upward and caught his lips in a gentle kiss, a thrill racing through her even at this almost-chaste seeming gesture which had, however, crossed the line completely. Finally. At first, the Doctor was so surprised and overwhelmed that he froze, his lips prone beneath hers until she pulled back ever so slightly, her big eyes gazing up at him, not pleading, but reassuring. His brow furrowed, like he was asking her, _really? Me? Are you sure?_. Silly Doctor, always doubting that she felt this for him no matter how gut-wrenchingly, pathetically, life-ruiningly, redeemingly, wonderfully, preciously, insanely obvious it was. Clara nodded ever so slightly, her hands perched tentatively at the collar of his shirt, fingers grazing his neck. 

The Doctor’s body, his skin, ran very warm, which Clara had noticed right from their very first adventures together, especially since she’d always been extremely attracted to him, had always wanted him. In his previous body or this one, the Doctor was just… _him_ , and when it came down to it, the difference didn’t matter to Clara. He felt like the Doctor all along, her best friend and most forbidden desire all wrapped up in the same beguilingly sexy paradox. And this was one aspect that had made holding herself back from these feelings particularly difficult over the years. 

He felt _so_ good to her, his presence, his orbit, the touch of his skin against hers, the elusive pleasure of his embrace. It was narcotic, irresistible, maddening, beautiful.

 _“The trick is, don't fall in love. I do that trick quite a lot, sometimes twice a day…”_. It was hilarious now, not sad, just maybe adorably idiotic, the way she’d lied. The truth, however perilous, was so much better, was the only way forward. Repression and layer upon layer of self-protection fell away from Clara as she let her vulnerability show clearly for the first time, completely unguarded. He scanned her face in wonderment.

It seemed as if the Doctor couldn’t bear to leave Clara so purely and voluntarily breakable without responding to her suggestions; it was just too much, even for his immense capacity for denial. Slowly, he leaned down and took her face in his hands, then pressed his mouth to hers carefully. “I can’t believe you just did that,” Clara murmured, giddy.

“Neither can I,” he admitted as she rose up slightly onto her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him in so that she could kiss him in a much more forward manner. His hands drifted from her back to her hips uncertainly, and he worried, “Clara, I’m not sure I know how to do this. I’m pretty sure that I used to, but I’ve lost track of what to do, and now I’m—”

Clara kissed him again, cutting off his nervous babbling, and this time she brushed her tongue against his lips ever so slightly, causing him to open his mouth with a low growl, his long fingers clasping the back of her neck and tangling in her hair as his other arm tightened around her waist. _Oh, wow,_ Clara thought, arousal prickling her skin all over, _I was not ready for this._ She pulled his jacket off and then pressed herself closer against him, the thrumming in her core growing more insistent by the second.

They were breathing fast when their lips parted again, and Clara raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure you don’t know what you’re doing?” 

He silently acknowledged her point, kissing her again with confidence that was so startling after his shyness that Clara was blown away, needing and demanding more. She grabbed his shirt and brought him down with her as she lay on the bed and raised her legs around his hips, her nightgown rising as he grasped her bare thigh. 

“Doctor,” Clara whispered as he kissed her neck and she put a hand under the material of his soft, thin black sweater, loving all over again the feeling of his warm skin, this time a part of him she’d never touched before. He shivered in a good way under her touch, and Clara lifted his sweater over his head, tossing it aside. 

“I never thought,” the Doctor began helplessly, brushing Clara’s hair back from her face, unable to put words to the emotion. She smiled again. The Doctor, at a loss for words. A true Christmas miracle.

“Doctor, you know what?” Clara whispered, wrapped up in magic, drunk off of his nearness, his touch, his fingers stroking her face so lovingly, his half-bare body lightly touching her own as he lay beside her. One of her legs was still flung over him, and he held it as if, despite their mutual shock that they’d dropped pretenses, this was the most natural thing in the world, because it was. “I don’t think every Christmas is Last Christmas after all. What if, right now, this is just… _This_ Christmas? The one. The one we’ve always been waiting for, not daring to think it’d ever really happen. All of this time, the pain and the heartbreak, and all of the amazing, fantastic, life-changing things we’ve been through together, what’s been the one wish burning at the back of your mind, the one hope you never dared admitting to?”

“I think you’re right, Clara, as usual,” the Doctor replied huskily, his fingers tracing her cheek, then her ear and neck, landing on her clavicle as she nestled into him, feeling his face with her fingers, trembling from happiness. “Except for one part of that. It was never in the back of my mind.” 

His eyes sparkled with affection and longing, and Clara ran a hand through his silver hair, the heartfelt gesture causing him to catch her fingers and kiss them, then her mouth. Both of their hands shot down to the hem of Clara’s nightgown and she giggled against his lips. “You do it,” she commanded cheekily, but the way her heart caught in her throat and her desire thickened with the reality of him undressing her made her laughter fade. Just as suddenly, she was lying there in only her red lace panties, which she had chosen in a little joke with herself. Sure, she wouldn’t be using them for sexy- time purposes this Christmas, but at least they were festive, beneath her cozy nightgown. 

Matters had certainly turned out very differently than the lonely Christmas Clara had anticipated.

The Doctor’s eyes roved over her nearly entirely naked body and he gave her a look that made Clara blush so hard, she was sure every iota of her must be burning up with it. If her toes could be blushing, they would. He looked at her as if she was the single most beautiful creature who had ever existed, as if he was in no way worthy of seeing this, much less touching her, and as if nothing would bring him more pleasure than to see her satisfied. A curious mixture of feelings, yet his expression conveyed them all so eloquently, his slightly parted lips and intent gaze making her fall even further in love with him.

“Clara,” the Doctor began shakily, caressing her shoulders, and it was all he could manage to say. 

He was still very nervous, yet she also felt his hardness against her leg, and it made her bite her lip in anticipation. “Doctor,” she murmured back, “I want you, can’t you see that?”

“I just don’t know why,” the Doctor admitted, but he sank against her, kissing her lips beseechingly, as if he wanted her to explain what this all meant for them.

“Now, it’s a humble Doctor?” Clara laughed softly, “This Christmas is chock full of miracles. Isn’t it completely obvious that I’m in love with you and I always have been?”

“Clara,” He sighed, “I’m a fool, I’ve made a million mistakes with you.”

“So? It’s not exactly like I’ve been the smoothest would-be girlfriend all this time.” Clara grinned up at him as he surrendered to an answering smile.

“Girlfriend? My girlfriend,” the Doctor repeated, threading their fingers together. She loved his hands, those elegant, expressive fingers which had been enticing her all this time, contributing to the very sexual frustration that they were finally giving relief to. “I probably shouldn’t admit how much I like the sound of that.”

Clara trailed her fingers down his chest and stomach until she got to his trousers, which she unbuttoned slowly, deliberately, his desire more obvious than ever as they allowed themselves to grind together ever so slightly. “What else shouldn’t you admit?” She asked with eyebrows raised.

“That I love you,” the Doctor answered immediately, obediently, at her command, wrapped in the mutual thrall that held them entranced. “I’ve loved you from the first time we ever met. I’ll never love anyone like I love you.”

A tear slid down Clara’s cheek and broke her voice a bit as she replied, “Well, in that case, I think you’d better kiss me, Doctor. And don’t stop, not for anything.”

His kiss was different now, hot and unrelenting, passionate and strong, his grip on her body making it clear that he had let go of his anxiety over not deserving her or not knowing how to make love to her the way she’d want. Something about confessing had set him free, or perhaps it was just the depth of his need for Clara that made the insecurities recede in the face of truly being together.

She slid his trousers off with her toes as they continued to kiss, their tongues tangling and their three hearts pounding, his arousal against the lace of her panties making Clara wet and desperate for him. His hand traced the lines of her figure, ghosting over her breasts and stomach until he found her underwear and slipped it off, his gaze never leaving her enraptured eyes. 

When he’d removed the panties, the Doctor had obviously noticed how moist she was, and it caused him to growl once again, that sound having quickly become one of Clara’s very favorite things. He cupped her breasts, then kissed them, his tongue expertly flicking over her nipples until Clara grabbed his behind suggestively, beyond all hope of holding out any longer, overtly pleading for him to thrust into her. He gave into her silent request, sliding into her as she raised her hips so that he could enter her as deeply as possible, and then she moaned loudly at the sensation which followed. Clara’s enthusiasm had the unique ability to bring out the Doctor’s most primal sexuality, and he thrust into her again and again, long and hard, until she grabbed the sheet so tightly she was sure she would rip it, pleasure consuming her beyond her wildest dreams. He came soon after and landed beside her with a ragged sigh, her arms encircling his neck as she kissed him, breathless.

“Merry Christmas, Doctor,” Clara said, overpowered with joy, snuggling against him, still amazed at this continuous, surreal physical closeness, no more of him pulling away from her and forcing himself to be cold in manner though his hearts pumped the hottest blood all for her. 

“Merry Christmas, Clara Oswald,” the Doctor replied with a quiet chuckle. “Any more plans for this holiday? I figure I’d best stay in the loop, you know.”

“Oh, absolutely,” She grinned, closing her eyes and letting the seductive heat of his body cover her with happiness, her limbs still trembling and heavy, slumber beginning to tug at her consciousness again in a very nice way. “I think I’ll have a good sleep here with you, cuddling, no escape.”

“I don’t want to escape,” he assured her, laying his head against hers. “Consider me your very willing cuddle companion, but don’t go _telling_ people I’m cuddly.”

“It’ll be our little secret,” Clara laughed. “And as for tomorrow, what’d you say I burn you the most delicious Christmas morning breakfast ever? Then we can wear paper hats and open up crackers and presents…”

“Presents? You got me a present, Clara?”

“Oh, several, and not just the full-on seduction I’ve got planned for Christmas day — shhh, I’ve gone and shown my hand on that one, haven’t I? But yes, Doctor, of course I got you Christmas presents. You’re the closest person in the world to me — who else would I think about every time I went in a shop? Don’t be daft; this humble thing is getting a bit weird.”

“Well, Clara, you’re well aware that I’m more than a little weird in general. It’s sort of my primary characteristic, wouldn’t you say?”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t say it was your _primary_ characteristic, after what we just did. I’d say it’s in the mix somewhere, though. And I like it quite a lot. So, what’d you get me?”

“Now who’s being daft?” The Doctor said rather haughtily. “As if I’d tell you what I got you for Christmas before you get to open it up? It took me ages to get it all wrapped properly. I don’t like tape.”

Clara giggled against his chest and gave into the sleepiness that was taking her over. White flakes drifting lazily outside the window, music still thudding away from the neighbors, Mariah Carey warbling “All I want for Christmas is you,” and Clara Oswald cozier and more blissful than she’d ever been, having found the merriest Christmas right there with the Doctor. When she began to dream, it was of mistletoe, hot cocoa, and sitting on the Doctor’s lap, present in hand, then running off to the TARDIS and zooming through space and time with him for however long her forever would be.


	2. Part Two: No more last Christmases

The next morning, the Doctor woke to the sounds of perky rustling and bustling about in the house as Clara rushed to and fro with her Christmas preparations. He laughed, sinking back into the pillows, as his nose detected the distinct aroma of burned food, then Clara whipping a towel back and forth across the fire alarm so it wouldn’t go off.

“Happy Christmas, Doctor,” she chirped, making her entrance decked out in a white button down shirt topped off by a neat black cardigan, a blue plaid miniskirt, black stockings, and chunky-heeled mary-janes finishing off a look that made the Doctor feel suddenly quite awake indeed. She handed him a cup of tea and winked. “Not so sure about the pancakes. Or the sausage. But I think the eggs are edible.”

“Let me at that stove,” the Doctor suggested, sitting up only to realize that he was naked. Clara laughed and pulled a suitcase from beside the bed. 

“Popped over to the TARDIS, packed up some clothes for you. Didn’t want you using that weird holographic clothing projector again. I don’t think Gran’s heart can take it again.”

“Gran?” the Doctor smiled.

“Aren’t you coming round to the Oswald fam’s Christmas dinner? I’ve got it penciled in for a few hours post afternoon seduction.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” the Doctor promised, slipping into a pair of blue boxer shorts and pulling his maroon bathrobe on. 

Clara passed him his slippers and promised, “You can shower after breakfast. Wait a minute now, is that a bonus, totally unexpected late morning seduction plan brewing in my wicked little mind?”

“I can only hope,” he answered with a cheeky grin. Clara loved seeing him so relaxed and happy. It felt like they were both breathing easy for the first time in ages. The Doctor was thinking that the way she was micromanaging the day’s schedule was pure Clara Oswald, plucky control freak at her most lovable.

The Doctor made a fresh batch of pancakes and sausages, then presented them to Clara with great flourish, though he was chewing on the blackened breakfast she’d made him as if it was actually palatable. “Get over here,” Clara demanded, kissing the chef as he sat down close beside her. “You don’t have to eat that.”

“They’re sort of like pancake crackers,” he explained, taking a sip of tea. “Quite tasty.”

“Eat up, Doctor,” Clara commanded, sliding some of the edible pancakes and sausages onto his plate. “You’ll need your energy.” Her wink made the Doctor do a double-take, and she could have sworn he actually blushed.

After breakfast and the totally unexpected late morning seduction, the Doctor put on his most lovely Doctory outfit, crisp white shirt and dapper dark blue velvet, black pants just a little too tight for no reason Clara had ever been able to discern besides his consistent desire to make her think dirty thoughts. She led him to the Christmas tree and they placed paper hats on each other, yanking a cracker open with a resplendent pop. There was a riddle inside, and thankfully, it was eye-rollingly cheesy, just the way Clara liked her Christmas cracker riddles. 

“This is for you,” Clara announced, handing him a square present wrapped in shiny red paper with a green bow on top. She climbed into his lap in her comfiest arm chair and placed her teacup on the table beside them, enjoying the pretty, twinkling lights on her colorful tree, overcome again that he was actually here to enjoy it all with her. 

“Oh, Clara,” the Doctor breathed, “It’s perfect.”

“Well, I think you kind of missed the songs in the morning, despite the way they get stuck in your head. Just switch the channel this time if Peter Andre comes on, or you know, make another mechanical squirrel. Mrs. Squirrel. Mr. Squirrel looks lonely.” Clara’s eyes sparkled as the Doctor examined the vintage 1940’s radio, and she was so distracted that she didn’t even notice him slipping something small into the pocket of her cardigan until she kissed him and drew back at the feeling of a slight added weight in her clothes.

“What’s this?” Clara asked, pulling out the small square, which he had wrapped terribly, lopsided Santa-patterned paper encircled by way too much tape.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I don’t know how that got there,” he insisted nonchalantly but gave her a devilish grin a moment later.

“What…how are they doing that?” Clara asked, staring down at the pair of earrings which lay in the box she’d managed to wrest free from the absurd wrapping paper. They shone with a bright glaze that looked like tiny beams of sunshine had been encased within the small silver squares of the earrings.

“It’s just a little bit of alien magic,” the Doctor admitted, “I was passing through Rogelis III recently and just happened to see these…”

“Oh, you were just passing through,” Clara repeated disbelievingly, removing her gingerbread man earrings and replacing them with the new ones. They sparkled with golden-yellow shifting into warm orange, and the Doctor smiled in satisfaction.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured. “Okay, okay, you got me. I went there just to get them for you. Only the most exquisite jewelry in the universe could ever fail to live up to your gorgeousness in quite so lovely a manner. They’re adequate.”

“Are you scripting these compliments?” Clara asked, her mouth falling open at his blunt adoration. 

“Are you planning to open that?” the Doctor inquired archly, nodding to the longer gift box he’d secreted into the space between her sweater and shirt, perched against her lap. Clara grinned broadly and then examined the red and green polka dot-papered box, wrapping actually hanging off the side of the package, some attempt having been made to tame it with enough tape for about five additional gifts. 

“Please never learn to wrap presents properly,” Clara begged before opening the necklace which matched the earrings. Speechless, she fastened it behind her neck and watched the shimmering gem fall against her shirt, perfectly positioned just below her collar. Clara kissed the Doctor, shifting her body so that she was basically straddling him, her lips turning from warm and affectionate to hot and aggressive.

“Is this my next present?” the Doctor asked gruffly, taking her by the waist. 

Clara bit down lightly on his lower lip and he sucked in a breath, unquestionably aroused, his hands beginning to tug her shirt from her skirt. “You’d better believe it,” Clara confirmed. When he reached for her shoes, pulling them off so that he could follow the silky texture of her tights from the tips of her toes all the way up to her thighs, Clara closed her eyes, tingling all over. Her skirt rode up as he stroked her beneath it, shortening her patience as only he could. 

“This is a very Clara Oswaldy outfit,” the Doctor growled hotly against her ear. He picked her up and laid her on the couch, sliding her stockings down as Clara yanked at his belt. He was inside her moments later, and Clara cried out sharply with the sudden fullness. She repositioned them so that she could slide up and down, driving him wild with her unrelenting rhythm until they both came undone, and she kissed his mouth, tasting his erotic groan and then snuggling against him again until she could get her breath back.

“We’re going to be late for dinner, at this rate,” he suggested, that husky Scottish lilt in his voice only making her lustful all over again.

“That’s not my fault; stop seducing me already. It’s only eleven fifteen.” She sat up and nudged him playfully with her knee, and the Doctor caught her leg suggestively.

“Really? Shall I stop?”

“No,” Clara said rather seriously, “Please do not.”

They showed up slightly red-faced and quite late to the Oswald family Christmas, and Clara managed to remember she needed to explain the Doctor all over again as soon as her dad opened up the door. “We brought wine!” Clara said, hoisting a bottle of red and a bottle of white.

“And cookies,” the Doctor added enthusiastically, “It’s not Christmas without cookies!”

“You and your sweets,” Clara faux-chided. “Hello, Dad, Happy Christmas!”

“Uh, Hello, Clara,” Dave Oswald greeted awkwardly, perplexed. “Happy Christmas,” he said as his daughter hugged him, then breezed into the house. She placed the wine on the counter as the Doctor smiled at Dave. 

“It’s a bit of a long story, really, but truth be told, I love your daughter and she’s brought me round for Christmas, so, and I hardly ever say this so the words feel slightly weird even as I speak them, but…is it okay that I’m here?” The Doctor shifted shyly. 

“Bit of an age difference, then?” Dave asked, scratching his head as he evaluated the Doctor.

“Uh, yeah, bit of one, but we feel like it’s just a number,” the Doctor replied with ironic reductiveness.

“Well, you certainly babble on well enough to be right on Clara’s wavelength,” Dave replied finally. “And I haven’t seen my daughter smile like that in ages, so welcome, er?”

“The Doctor,” the Doctor introduced himself, opting out of the old “John Smith” alias and going right for honesty.

“Again, really? Clara certainly likes to date doctors. Sorry, no offense, didn’t mean to bring up her ex.” Dave shrugged and admitted the Doctor into the house.

“Oh, none taken, I’ve heard that her doctor ex-boyfriend was a wonderful man, handsome, clever, dazzlingly well-mannered—” the Doctor enthused as the conversation caught Clara’s ears and she rolled her eyes.

“Take it down a notch,” She urged with a chortle. “Gran, this is the Doctor, my boyfriend.”

“Oh, hello, my dear,” Gran greeted warmly, shaking the Doctor’s hand. “Glad to know that if Clara carries on much longer like this, we’ll have all the free medical care we could ever need.”

“Really, Gran,” Clara sighed, “You’re incorrigible.”

“Yes, dear, and happy to be so. Now, where are you finding all of these handsome doctors, anyway, Clara? Although…come here, Doctor,” she beckoned. The Doctor obliged and leaned down to where Gran was sitting at the table. Gran took the Doctor’s chin in her hand and gently turned his face back and forth before looking carefully into his eyes. “There’s something very familiar about you,” Gran concluded. “I’d almost think I knew why, if I hadn’t already been into the sherry.”

“I heard that,” Dave complained, coming in with a big platter of turkey. “I’ve told you to go easy on the spirits.”

Gran winked a little too knowingly at Clara, who just smiled and sat in the chair which the Doctor had pulled out for her. “You didn’t finish opening your presents,” she accused him in a whispering aside. “There’s a really nice sweater, and I got you a new wallet for your psychic paper, the old one’s battered beyond belief. And there’s a tie.”

“A necktie?” The Doctor wondered, “I don’t usually wear those.”

“Unless you’re on a train, apparently,” Clara winked. “I never forgot how good it looked on you.”

“I think it would look rather good tied to your bedpost, with your wrists inside it, actually,” the Doctor muttered naughtily.

“You don’t even know what it looks like yet,” Clara shot back, pressing her legs together at the arousal his words had caused her.

“I do know what _you_ look like, though,” he replied smoothly, raising his eyebrows and smirking mischievously, before returning to the family dinner conversation as though he hadn’t just suggested that he and Clara try out light bondage for later.

Clara got her revenge by kicking her shoe off gently and stroking the Doctor’s leg with her foot until he cast her a look that seemed to be begging her for mercy. It was Clara’s turn to smirk.

After dinner, which for the Doctor and herself consisted of a few bites of food swallowed in distraction, Clara took his arm and announced, “I’m going to show the Doctor my old room.”

“Fine, but the door stays open,” Dave joked, struggling with the wine opener as Gran greeted some cousins who had just arrived, shaking snow off of their boots.

“You’ll meet them later,” Clara promised, tugging the Doctor up the stairs. 

“Yes, this _would_ be your old room,” He observed, smiling at the books lining every wall, star-themed bedding, and posters of Greek mythological figures. And of course, one very distinguished and severe-looking Roman Emperor. “Pin-up and all.”  


“Don’t judge,” Clara smirked, flopping down on the bed and flicking the lights off, room-darkening shades pulled down so that she could see the glow-in-the-dark stars she’d stuck on the ceiling when she was fifteen. “Can you believe those still light up? I couldn’t resist checking. Even then, I was dreaming about the stars, about legends and heroes. Who would’ve guessed that I’d grow up to live within legend myself?”

“Only anyone who’d ever met you,” The Doctor noted knowingly. “But, Clara.” He sat on the bed and looked worried all of a sudden. “Those really shouldn’t still be working. Should have faded out years ago.”

“Yeah, just got a good batch, I guess,” She shrugged, still blissfully content.

“Clara!” Dave called from downstairs, “Pie!”

“Oooh, we always have really good pie. Ever since the year I tried to make it myself, that is. We sort of learned our lesson on scouting out a reliable bakery, after the fire department left.” Clara laughed at the memory.

“Clara,” he said again, softly urgent, “Listen to me. How can those stars still light up, hmm? What if we’re still dreaming?”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” Clara swatted him, sitting up and leveling him with a stern expression. “No way.”

“Well, let’s be realistic. What are the chances that we’d ever have the nerve to admit our feelings to each other?”

“Shut up,” Clara insisted. “We are not dreaming!”

“Okay, let’s say that we do get up the nerve and we profess our love and decide to spend Christmas together in a totally _not_ tragic and angsty sort of manner, which, let’s face it, is quite a leap for us.” The sarcasm in his face did nothing to mask his real feelings of confused panic.

“Fair enough, but I’m still not buying. This is real. And I want pie now. Cherry, preferably, but if there’s apple, I’m not saying no.”

“Clara, how can this be real? I mean, come on, no one has this much sex.”

“ _That’s_ your argument?” Clara chuckled. “Obviously, _we_ do. But if you’d like that to continue, I recommend that you let go of your ridiculous suspicions right now.” She sighed heavily as he remained stubbornly convinced that their night and day had simply been too good to be true. “Alright, Doctor, I am gonna prove to you right now that we’re awake. Ready?” He nodded, a little shaky. Afraid to lose this happiness if she was wrong.

Clara clasped his face in her hands and asked, “Doctor, why are you here? Is it ‘a long story’?”

“No,” He confirmed, pleasantly surprised by his own response. “I’m here because I love you.”

“Aha,” She replied, beaming triumphantly. “Love ya too, silly. Now check these out. Dream Test, part 2.” Clara tossed three books to the Doctor. “Read.”

“‘It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man, in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,’” He said, then opened the next one. “‘Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to be in possession of some of life’s best blessings.’ Huh!” He remarked, more and more convinced that this scenario, which felt like the sweetest, most intoxicatingly hard-to-wake-up-from dream was actually reality. He opened the last book. “‘Happy families are all alike.’ Well, what’d you know, Clara Oswald.”

“Told you so,” Clara bragged. “Now let’s go. There’s a lot more Christmas left, and it’s going to be the best one ever, until next year and the next. I want you there for all of my Christmases.”

“Promise?” The Doctor requested, vulnerable in his need to believe, unaccustomed to the surrender of hope, unused to having faith that love and happiness wasn’t a transient, mocking theme which ghosted in and out of his life just to remind him of what he’d never have.

“Of course I promise,” She murmured, kissing him. “And not to be repetitive, but…Happy Christmas, Doctor.”

"Look at me," He laughed, thoroughly amazed. "I think now, I'm the one with stars in my eyes."


End file.
